It's love, you idiot
by EroseN
Summary: John is just making a cup of tea, as usual, when Sherlock calls him over for a quick experiment. Okay, it's pointless fluff, but it's cute, so you all should read it!


**Hallo, everyone! It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm on tumblr now, if anyone is interested... Username is erosen13... anywho, I hope you enjoy this cute little fluff I put together. It's a bit choppy, but I'm trying to get back into writing, so let me know how it goes! Thanks, everyone! **

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"John! Come here." Sherlock calls. I sigh, setting down the cup of tea I was enjoying and walking over to where my flatmate is sitting on the couch. I would have loved to ignore him, but that never works. He always ends up getting into one of his touchy moods if I do that and I have to deal with it.

"What is it?" I ask, expecting him to order me to retrieve something. His eyes open.

"I'm doing an experiment." He sits up, patting the couch next to him. "Sit here." I comply, frowning slightly and wondering what horrible mixture he's going to try and feed me.

I've learned from past experience that it isn't wise to eat or drink anything Sherlock makes unless you've watched him make it yourself. He doesn't give me anything; however, he does something just as odd. One of his long-fingered hands reaches out and gently strokes my face, starting at my hairline and running down my cheek to my jaw. I freeze, wondering what on earth he hopes to accomplish by this. _Has he finally figured it out?_ I thought I'd been hiding my feelings for him quite successfully. He's my best friend and I can't risk losing that. He pulls his hands away and I relax, letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

"Now go stand over there." Sherlock orders, pointing to the other side of the room. "And turn around so I can't see your face." He adds for good measure. I hear him mutter to himself, "No good, not good enough."

"How long do I have to stand here?" I ask, a bit annoyed that I don't know what's going on. He ignores my question.

"Come back over here." I'm getting a bit fed up with his crazy stunts, but I sit down anyway.

"Okay, now, you touch my face this time." He grabs my wrist and holds my hand to his face. If I was an average person, I'm sure my hands would be shaking now. But I'm not, so I gently caress the sharp angle of his cheek bone, the cold hollow of his cheeks, the soft curly dark hair. I pull my hand back and glare at him as if to ask if he was done yet.

"Yes, thank you, John. Now go away. Out of this room where I can't see you." I sigh to myself, stopping in the kitchen for my tea on my way to my bedroom. I can hear Sherlock laying back on his couch and I wonder what that was all about. Was he teasing me?I don't think he has the capacity for that. It was probably just something to do with a case he was working on.

An hour later after I finish straightening my things and folding my laundry, I still haven't heard anything from Sherlock. I poke my head out of the room and I hear him talking. I assume he's talking to Mrs. Hudson or to himself, but then I hear my name. I shake my head in disbelief. He's gone and done it again, forgotten that he sent me away. I walk into the room he's in and smile down at him, though he can't see because his eyes are closed.

"What was that, Sherlock? Can you repeat everything you've said in the past hour?" He ignores me, as usual, and goes on speaking.

"As I was saying, John, I hate emotions. Pesky things, they are. They get in the way of everything else. And the way human bodies react to certain things, well, it's just plain disgusting!" He's shouting now, but I'm not sure what he's mad at.

"Er, Sherlock? Is everything all right?" I ask tentatively. I'm not used to him so out of control. His eyes fly open and he jumps up off the couch, rushing over to me and grabbing my upper arms, fingers digging into my skin.

"Ow, Sherlock, that hurts." My voice is breathy though, unconvincing.

"Look in my eyes. What do you see. Come on now!" Sherlock moves his face close to mine. I take a deep breath (smells like him) and do as he says.

"I see your iris, and your pupils, which are dilated right now. I don't know, I suppose you look the same as you always do." (beautiful) I shrug.

"Take my pulse." He orders. He tilts his head to the side and I press two fingers to his neck, finding his pulse quickly.

"It's fast." I begin to put the puzzle pieces together, though I can hardly believe it. I begin eliminating all options. "What have you been watching on the telly to get you so worked up? Or perhaps reading?" Sherlock shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Well then what were you thinking about to get your body to react like this? Not some pretty lady you saw across the street was it?" He doesn't respond right away and my spirit falls. Of course it's some woman he met. She was probably extraordinary and beautiful and smart.

"John, what is this called?" Sherlock's voice is quiet again and he leans down, placing his head on my shoulder. It has to be an uncomfortable position for him as he was so much taller.

"I believe it's called attraction, Sherlock." I answer sadly. He's such a child when it comes to very human things like this. He straightens up again.

"No! I know what physical attraction feel like, I can see it in people every day! It's more. Do you ever feel that tightening in your chest, the pounding of your heart, the weakness in your knees?" (Yes, all the time around you) He must have fallen extremely hard for this woman.

"It's love, Sherlock you idiot." I remove his hands from my arms and back away. (I know that feeling) "Just go talk to her. I'm sure you'll do fine." I stand there, facing the other way, waiting to hear the door open and close to signal Sherlock leaving. Instead, I hear light footsteps behind me and warm arms suddenly encircle my waist and he leans his face into my neck.

"If that's the case then, I suppose I'll have to say it. I love you, John." I push him away. I knew he was manipulative, but this was an all time low.

"Enough with your stupid jokes." (He knows, oh God he knows and now he's teasing me about it)

"It's not a joke. Oh why don't you ever understand? Is your mind truly that simple?"

"No, Sherlock, it's just that I'm not an idiot. I know you could never feel the same way-" I trail off, realizing I've just given away my biggest secret. Damn, he sure knows how to get the truth out of people.

"The same way? What?" He looked confused. Wait, he honestly didn't know? How could someone so observant not see what was right in front of him?

"Alright, you arse. You wanted to hear me say it? I love you. I love everything about you, even when you're being an arrogant dick, which is most of the time. Because when you smile at me or when you just look at me without that awful cynicism in your eyes, something inside of me breaks and I know it's you. So there." I finish my sentence lamely and take a breath, not looking up at Sherlock's face.

"Now that you've gotten what you wanted, can we stop this sick little game?" I ask tiredly. It's just too much right now. Just too much. Sherlock doesn't say anything, but when I finally manage to meet his eyes, I'm shocked by the emotion I see in them.

"Sher-" I begin to say, but before I can even get out his name, he has me pressed against the wall, my head actually quite near the bullet holes he out into it, and his mouth is on top of mine. It's a bit sloppy, but then I certainly wasn't expecting it and I'm sure Sherlock had completely lost it by this point. He pulls away after only a few seconds and grins triumphantly at me.

"Oh, wipe that damn smirk off your face." I say jokingly, my words a little shaky after that surprise.

"Believe me now, John?" How he manages to keep his voice steady and, I'll be the first to admit it, extremely sexy, was beyond my imagination. I nod mutely and clear my throat.

"You seem to have me trapped, Sherlock." I point out. He grins and raises his eyebrows, contorting his face into a funny look that I have never seen on his face before.

"What shall we do about that, my dear Watson?" He asks mockingly. I roll my eyes, finally beginning to believe him. Maybe it's not love, but it's certainly more emotion than I've ever seen Sherlock show towards any other person. In response to his taunt, I wrap my fingers through his hair and pull his head down while standing on my tiptoes, bringing our lips together again. I feel his arms wrap around me and pull me closer, and when I finally pull my face back, his smile mirrors mine, I'm sure. It is one of pure happiness, none of the hardened war veteran in my face and none of the damaged consulting detective in his. Because both of us have our problems. But now we have each other. And things will get better.

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**So... Thats where I can either end it, or change the rating to M and write some smut to follow it up... Any input would be great! Haha, never thought I'd publish a story with friendship as one of the categories, did ya? **


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